Peanuts : A Domestic Bliss Ficlet
by Kijakazibibi
Summary: 3 year-old Hamish Watson Holmes displays his knowledge of the male anatomy.


**Peanuts: A Domestic Bliss Ficlet** by Kijakazibibi

**NOTE:** This is a complete piece of happy domestic fluff quite uncharacteristic for this writer.

Sherlock/John Married ; Hamish Watson Holmes

"Ham, go tell Poppop that he's about to run out of hot water and that he'd better hurry up or we're going to be late again."

John doesn't look up from where he's throwing together lunches as quickly as he can. Rice and beans for himself and Hamish. A sandwich for Sherlock. He knows Sherlock probably won't eat it, or that he'll forget it on the counter, or forget that he has it with him, or which pocket it's in even though it goes in the same pocket every day, but John can't help himself. He can't stop trying to feed Sherlock up.

"Okay, Daddy," three year old Hamish leaves off whatever building project he's been busily chatting to himself with over at the coffee table and rockets down the hallway at a toddler run. John thanks god yet again for fleece socks with grippers on them.

"Potty, Hamish. While you're there." John calls a reminder after him.

Hamish doesn't reply, but John hears him hit the bathroom door with a bang, hears the sound of the shower get louder as the door swings open and hears the muffled rumble of his partner's morning voice saying something to their child.

Gladstone, the bulldog, sighs from his spot on the floor in front of the refrigerator and struggles to his feet.

"Don't let him out of there Glad, until he's got something in the potty." John hears the dutiful tick of Gladstone's claws on the hardwood floor as he lumbers for the bathroom. "Hamish, I mean. I'm fairly certain Sherlock's all set with that."

A few minutes later there's a long, low groan of anguish from the bathroom and the water shuts off. Hot water must have run out. John glances at his watch and pours Sherlock's tea. Right on time, ten minutes late. He starts to cut up an apple for Hamish.

John barely hears the sudden howl of Holmesian outrage from the bathroom he is so accustomed to them by now. When Hamish and Gladstone both come tearing back down the hallway John glances up briefly. "Pants, Hamish. You forgot to put your pants back on again."

Hamish ignores him and goes back to his toys on the coffee table. John reflects on how often Hamish reminds him of Sherlock, even though they don't share any genetic material. It's another arrow in John's quiver for the nurture over nature argument.

Gladstone flops back down in front of the 'fridge with a doggy groan, happy that his exercise for the morning is over.

"_What _did you tell him to say to me?" Sherlock has snuck up on John and is speaking in the quiet, menacing voice he uses when he is really angry. He's still dripping from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

"Did he call you Mummy again?" John replies, not really listening. He's got half an ear on a BBC story about troop withdrawal from Afghanistan.

"_No_, he didn't call me _Mummy_ again. But what have you been saying to him, because it's not very funny."

"I didn't say anything to him I don't usually say. What are you on about, Sherlock?" John glances at Hamish, who is still pant less, still engrossed in his play. "Pants, Hamish."

Hamish ignores him.

Sherlock sighs in exasperation, the way he does when he has to explain something to John that he thinks is so basic even Gladstone would be able to work it out on his own if he'd just bother. "I'm taking a shower. It's _February_, for god's sake. It's cold out. He comes in and leaves the door open. The hot water runs out. I push open the shower curtain to get a towel and there's a draft, alright?"

John doesn't look up. "Your point being?"

"He looks at me and he points and , do you know what he says? He says, 'Poppop, what happened to your _peanuts_?' My _peanuts_? From now on he will _not_ be allowed in the bathroom while I am showering."

"Potty training, Sherlock. Free access, all the time if it's going to be successful. You heard the pediatrician."

Sherlock scowls at John. Clearly John is not taking this seriously.

"Alright," John says. "I'll talk to him about how to pronounce it."

Sherlock scowls even more.

"It's an easy enough mistake to ma - What? - Oh...I get it. You think he wasn't talking about your _penis?_...He's got the terminology wrong? Okay… well…we can go over that at dinner. Do you prefer _scrotum _or _testicles_? Although I guess I can see where he got the idea. I mean, because of the cold."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, growls, and turning abruptly on his heel, stalks back down the hallway. "No matter what he _thought_ he meant." Sherlock announces imperiously, "I will _not_ put up with that kind of abuse from my own child. It was cold, for god's sake_. _He is _not_ allowed in the bathroom when I am naked. Ever again!"

The bedroom door slams.

Gladstone sighs. Hamish, still pants-less, continues to babble to himself at the coffee table. John starts to laugh, and once he starts, he can't stop.

I tumbl at Kijakazibibi

Cross-posted at A03


End file.
